


Family Bending

by karuvapatta



Series: Disaster Family [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Field Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 09:32:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13587258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karuvapatta/pseuds/karuvapatta
Summary: Noriko’s quiet life is disturbed by the arrival of a young man claiming to be her son (aka the fic in which Zuko’s entire family gets to go on a life-changing field trip with Zuko).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not comic-compliant, although it lifts some elements from them.

The sun was low on the horizon, sky painted with soft oranges and yellows. She stood for a while, watching the mist soften the jagged edge of the mountain line, eager for a brush and some paint that would let her capture the beauty of the moment.

Another day, perhaps. She still had a few scrolls to finish – mostly legal documents and a book of children’s stories that she was eager to get her hands on. Once she got better at them, perhaps she could sell her paintings as well. For now she had to save the paints if she wanted to make a decent living.

She swiftly climbed the path to her house, taking mental notes of all that she had to stock up on. Her supplies were dangerously low after the long winter. A trip to Yu Dao would be necessary. Perhaps she could arrange it with some of the temple acolytes – very few agreed to leave the peaceful Yangchen to enter the noisy, crowded city, and she could definitely sympathize—

There were people at her house.

She stopped in her tracks, and then began walking again, albeit at a slower pace. Travellers came and went, after all. She did not fear them.

There were four in total, and they had already noticed her. Two she recognized at once, for all that she never expected to see them again.

“Avatar Aang,” she said first to the boy in the saffron robes of a monk.

Then she turned to the other – young man with a scar on his face. The face she had been paid to paint over and over again since his coronation, and whose features became familiar to her. The one claiming to be her son.

“Fire Lord Zuko,” she said, bowing.

“Mother,” said he, with a stiff and formal bow of his own.

The first time they had met, he had rushed to embrace her, and then jolted back when she failed to reciprocate. She had watched the sudden joy in his face slowly, gradually give way to horror; and felt like the worst kind of monster.

They stood in awkward silence. He hardly looked like the Fire Lord in his simple travelling clothes, without the signature headpiece decorating his top-knot. But it was the deep sorrow in his eyes that she couldn’t bear, not the awe she should feel in his presence. So she looked at his companions instead.

“Hello,” she said with a polite smile.

The silence stretched. There was something she was missing, surely, but she had become used to it by now. No matter how many books she read on the subject, conversations with people were fraught with missteps and confusion on her part. Here at the temple, at least, the healers and acolytes grew familiar with her and thought nothing of her occasional inability to read social cues. But these two—the man and the girl, Fire Nation by the looks of them—they stared at her much like Zuko did, back during his first visit.

“I’m sorry,” she said eventually. “I can only remember the past seven years. If we met before that, I have forgotten it.”

She hoped they wouldn’t ask for more details, explaining herself grew so tedious… Seven years ago, she had awoken on a ship bound from the Fire Nation Capital to one of its colonies. No, she did not remember how she got there. Neither did the crew. No, she couldn’t go back, she had no money to purchase a ticket and no documents to prove her identity.

But they didn’t ask. It took time for someone to finally speak.

“Mother,” Zuko said gently. “This is my sister and my father.”

But that—oh.

She looked at them again, properly. If that was her daughter—yes, perhaps there was something of her own features in the girl’s face. And the man resembled Zuko, and also another portrait she had painted a couple of times. That of the former Fire Lord.

She did not know what so say. She hardly ever knew what to say, unless she had something specific to talk about. But these people, if they truly were who Zuko said they were, with their intense golden eyes, simultaneously disbelieving and accusing – they frightened her.

It would be like Zuko all over again. Worse, maybe. The boy had never been that angry in her presence.

“Would you like to come in for tea?” she asked. Politeness, politeness was important. She had read books on etiquette. It came easier than being genuine, or kind, or gentle. “I cannot offer you any food, but if you’re hungry I can show you to the temple—”

“Is this some kind of a joke?” the girl spoke, her voice sharp as a whip.

“Azula—” Zuko began.

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed at him. “She’s lying, isn’t she? You two decided to play some sick game – why, I’m almost impressed.”

“Azula!”

“She’s not lying,” the Avatar said. “Toph said so—Katara, too, she said your mother is sick—”

“Oh, shut up,” Azula said. “This is a family matter. Nobody invited you.”

“I invited him,” Zuko said.

“Right,” Azula smirked. “So afraid of me and Dad that you need the Avatar to protect you? Some Fire Lord you are…”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Zuko said. “You are the one who is afraid.”

The girl laughed in his face.

“Oh, really? Of what, of _her_? Because she forgot me?”

Suddenly she whirled around, eyes blazing.

“Tell me, _Mother_ ,” she spat the word as if it burned her tongue, “was it a relief, then? The best day of your miserable life, that you could toss us out of your mind—"

“Azula!”

The Avatar sprang up, airbending himself between the two women. The smirk on the girl’s face only grew wider, blue flames springing into existence around her fists. There was something brittle about her expression, a crack distorting her features almost as prominent as the scar on her brother’s face.

“Oh, by all means,” she purred. “You first.”

“Nobody’s fighting,” Zuko said, loudly. “Aang—can you please—”

The whirling wind around the boy settled as he relaxed his battle stance and put away his staff.

“Sure,” he said. “Miss Noriko, can I please have some tea?”

“Tea?” Noriko repeated, uncomprehending. “I—yes. Yes, of course.”

She led – no, she allowed herself to be led away. Azula was aiming kicks and punches at Zuko, her fire so hot it burned blue, scorching the grass beneath their feet. Her brother evaded her rather easily, in between unsuccessful attempts to reason with her.

Looking back at them, she caught sight of the man’s golden eyes. He seemed oddly disinterested in his own children as they fought one another, each potentially fatal blow parried at the last moment. Something about him sent shivers up Noriko’s spine.

She welcomed the tranquillity of her home. With a flick of her fingers, she lit the lanterns and then stood there for a moment, focused on her own breathing.

“Are you all right?” Aang asked anxiously.

“Yes,” she said, voice hollow. “I’m fine. Please, have a seat. Tea will be ready shortly.”

Her kitchen was tiny and barely used. She never learned how to cook properly and they were always happy to offer her meals at the temple, since she spent most of her day there anyway. But she loved tea and always kept a variety of blends. Hopefully some of them would be to Aang’s liking.

In the end she picked one at random, and was surprised not to have dropped it on the floor, considering how badly her hands were trembling.

She had dreamt of finding her family one day. But then Zuko appeared, injured during his travels with the Avatar and their friends, seeking help in the secluded sanctuary of the mountains. He had been so heartbroken when details of Noriko’s condition were explained to him, she could hardly stand to look in his eyes ever again. In truth, she had hoped he would not come back for her, despite his fervent promise otherwise.

Now it turned out she not only had a son but a teenaged daughter, too. And a husband who had yet to say a word about the whole situation.

She brought in the tray and, kneeling down, set it on the low table. Suu meowed haughtily from her perch, but then spread her wings and flew down, settling on Noriko’s shoulder. She offered her furry little head to be petted and Noriko complied somewhat absent-mindedly as the tea brew in its pot.

“Don’t worry about Azula,” Aang said. “Zuko and I can keep her in line.”

“What happened to her?” Noriko asked. The girl was obviously disturbed in some way. Plenty of young people, scarred by war, acted out their aggression on others, occasionally even their own families. Noriko knew how to prepare soothing or sedating medicine for the most extreme of cases, but had no idea what should be said to such a person.

“I don’t think it’s my place to tell,” Aang said. “But be careful, both of them can be dangerous.” He gave her an uneasy smile. “They were imprisoned, see? But Zuko decided to bring his father here because we’re sure he knows what actually happened to you. He won’t tell Zuko, though, and only agreed to help if Azula came along.”

“Why?”

Aang sighed, rubbing his neck.

“According to Zuko, they’re planning to murder him and supplant his throne.”

Noriko froze, coming to her senses only when the tea she had began to pour threatened to overflow the small porcelain cup.

“But that’s terrible,” she said helplessly.

“It’s complicated, that’s for sure,” Aang said. When he noticed the look on her face, he added: “Don’t worry, Zuko is a good man and will grow into a great Fire Lord. And his Uncle Iroh – that would be your brother-in-law, I think – is pretty much the wisest, kindest man you will ever meet. And he gives great advice.”

“And my husband and daughter?”

His young face was blissfully, wonderfully expressive. She had no trouble reading his emotions and no reason to doubt the genuine sympathy he felt for her situation. Therefore, to spare him having to formulate a diplomatic answer, she instead said, “The tea is ready.”

They sipped it in silence. Bored with her inattentiveness, Suu turned to Aang instead. The boy had his way with animals, although Noriko had not seen his pet lemur or his flying bison this time around. But the cat owl was soon playing with him as she seldom deigned to play with strangers.

The sounds of fire blasts died down eventually. Noriko sat motionless, aware that the three of them were approaching her house.

This was foolish, she told herself. They were her family. Even if she did not remember them and probably never would, she could at least find out more about her past life. What kind of person she had been, where she came from – what was their marriage like, whether Zuko and Azula have always been at odds with one another…

But there was another voice in the back of her mind, a creeping fog that dulled her excitement.

They were strangers to her; always would be. Talking about the past would only be painful for them. She was not the woman they had once known, even if she wore her face and spoke with her voice. A facsimile of a mother and wife, that’s all she was. And, slowly but surely, they would resent her for it.

“Hey,” Aang said. Reluctant, she nonetheless raised her head to look at him. “We will find a way to help you. I promise.”

It was so easy to let herself believe him. He spoke with sureness that ought to sound silly from a boy his age, but he had had the wisdom of his past lives to guide him, and power beyond any man living. Surely he had duties elsewhere, fostering peace across the broken nations of the world. And yet here he was, offering comfort to her, as if that could possibly be worth his time.

“Thank you,” she said, meaning it.

There was a knock at the door.

She rose smoothly to answer it, and was unsurprised to see Zuko with slightly singed eyebrows and a charred sleeve. Behind him, Azula examined her nails.

“Come in,” Noriko said, undeterred by the girl’s acid glare as she passed her by. The man – it was odd to think of him as her husband – entered last, mouth set in a tight line.

They were closer now than they had been before, almost close enough to touch. Not that she had any desire to; he was handsome enough, but her experience with men from those seven years hadn’t been entirely pleasant. And he looked imposing, arrogant, dangerous – all of the qualities she had come to dread.

Nonetheless, she refused to avert her eyes. Perhaps she was wrong. After all, if they had been married they must have cared for one another at some point.

However when he turned from her without a spark of warmth in his eyes, she sincerely began to doubt it.

“This is the shack you live in, Mother?” Azula was saying. She lit a flame in her hand and began to examine the crowded shelves and the half-finished paintings.

“Please, keep the fire away from the scrolls,” Noriko said.

In response, Azula only brought the blue flame closer and let it flare brighter, illuminating the expression of exaggerated concern on her face.

“Don’t be like that,” she said. “I’m only trying to get to know you better. After all, we hardly ever spoke.”

“That’s not true,” Zuko said.

“Poetry,” Azula said with disdain. “History, geography, art, more damn poetry, herbalism, bending… Is it so difficult to commit to one subject? You had no trouble committing to only one child…”

Noriko flinched.

“Azula,” for the first time, she heard her husband’s voice. “This pathetic, adolescent posturing is beneath you.”

“Sorry, Father,” Azula said, unceremoniously dropping the scroll she had been holding onto the floor.

“Sit down, please,” Noriko said quietly.

She was aware of them all watching her as she bent down to pick up the scroll – a treatise on ethics by an Earth Kingdom philosopher. And she could finally name the emotion on her husband’s face, in his voice.

Contempt, then. Well, that made things easier. He saw her as she was now, awkwardly clinging to her scrolls and paintings for any tangible evidence of the past. She read everything that came her way, desperate to understand the world around her, robbed of however many years of knowledge—but she failed, time and time again. Books helped her understand herbalism, history, natural sciences, but she still felt as untethered as she did seven years ago. There was only so much one could learn from books, after all.

She carefully replaced the scroll and took her seat at the table. It was barely large enough for the five of them – Zuko and Aang had to sit side by side – and not one person seemed happy to be there.

Noriko served the tea in heavy silence.

“Why have you come?” she asked.

“To restore your memories,” Zuko said. “And to bring you home.”

She had to smile at him, albeit sadly.

“Do you think I haven’t tried?” she asked. “I spoke to healers all across the Colonies and the Earth Kingdom. I visited the Spirit World. They all told me the same thing.”

She had travelled for years before coming to settle here, at Yangchen. Lien Hua, unsurprised, welcomed her as an apprentice herbalist, and then later when Noriko began working as a scribe. She still enjoyed working with herbs, finding plenty of use for her skills. But there was something delightfully tangible about words committed to paper, even as her own mind remained blank.

_A broken mind is not so easily fixed_ , Lien Hua had said. The bluntness of that statement was oddly comforting in its finality. Even so, Zuko would probably not agree with her.

“Father knows what happened to you,” Zuko said, repeating what Aang had said earlier. His fists clenched in his lap.

“But he hasn’t told you, has he,” Noriko said.

“…no.”

“Ah,” she sipped her tea. “And why is that?”

She looked straight at him – Ozai, yes. That was the name of the former Fire Lord and Zuko’s father. Spirits know they wouldn’t let anyone in the colonies forget it.

There was a rumour she had heard once, quickly dismissing it as foul gossip meant to mythologize the cruelty of the Fire Nation. Nevertheless, it was said that Zuko’s own father had given him that horrible scar in some kind of a duel before banishing him. It seemed even less likely now – the man had yet to show any firebending. Either he had more self-control than his children or couldn’t bend at all. However, he certainly looked the part, tall and imposing and aloof, as he held her gaze, his expression unreadable to her.

“I told him all that he needed to know,” he said.

“You haven’t told me anything!” Zuko said.

“Precisely.”

Ozai lifted the cup to his lips.

“Will you tell me?” Noriko asked.

She received no reply. Nothing about this man made any sense to her so far.

Seven years she had spent travelling the world, looking for answers. There was no sign of physical trauma, she had been told. But emotional pain leaves no marks on the body and can be just as debilitating. Even now, as she had finally managed to make peace with her existence, as she began looking forwards instead of backwards – even now, she was still burning with curiosity. And now that she had the answers within her reach – if that was even true – if this wasn’t foolish hope…

These people could be lying to her, Noriko told herself firmly. She had no proof they were who they said they were, save for the fact that Zuko seemed so earnest. But she had been wrong before and could be wrong again.

“I will make you talk,” Zuko said in a low voice, burning gaze fixed on his father. “Don’t doubt that for a second.”

Ozai laughed, a jarring, terrible sound.

“Have you finally grown a spine, Zuzu?” Azula asked, just as amused. She hadn’t touched her tea, Noriko noticed. “Incredible. Are you honestly that desperate to have Mum back? All of this, just so that you can cling to her skirt for the rest of your life?”

“Why are you like this?” Noriko asked her, and knew at once it was the wrong thing to say. She had never been regarded with so much hatred as Azula managed to convey in a single glare.

“Shut up,” Azula hissed. “Don’t ever speak to me again.”

It seemed wisest to give ground.

“You have been to the Spirit World?” Aang asked suddenly.

Grateful for the distraction, Noriko nodded.

“Yes. Most healers agreed that my condition seemed unnatural—” and a certain number of them wanted her to stay to be examined and observed at their leisure—“so I sought out the Spirits. Unfortunately, they haven’t been able to help.”

Very few scrolls existed that described the Spirit World, and even fewer people who believed it to be anything more than a foolish tale. But she had a certain advantage over others who wanted to explore it, in that she had absolutely nothing to lose.

“How did you enter it?”

“There are places where the barrier between our worlds is thinner,” Noriko said, somewhat uncertain. “Is that not so?”

“It is,” Aang said. “Is there any such place nearby?”

“Fenghuang lives on the summit of the great mountain,” Noriko said. “More often than not, she is willing to speak to me.”

“Great!” Aang said. “We can visit her tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow?” Noriko repeated. “This is not a wise choice this early in the year. The journey is not easy and the weather can be unpredictable.”

“We’re not waiting for the weather to improve,” Zuko said. “This could take forever.”

Touched as she was by his determination, she said firmly: “It’s dangerous. Many careless travellers are lost forever in these mountains. I don’t want you to count yourselves among them.”

“But you said you’ve been there,” Aang said.

“I don’t mind the cold and I know the paths,” Noriko said. “Others are not so lucky. Besides, Fenghuang sees a lot, but she couldn’t see what happened to me. Asking her again may be fruitless.”

“Yes, but she can find whoever did this to you, right?” asked Aang. “All we need is a name.”

His grey eyes, guileless and kind, narrowed when he glared at Ozai. And, amazingly, the man did not laugh or dismiss him the way he did Zuko. There was contempt there, yes, but with an undercurrent of fear that she did not expect.

“Neither of you have offered me any incentive to cooperate,” Ozai said. “Except for empty threats.”

“You think you can barter you freedom for my mother’s memories?” Zuko said.

“Seems like a good deal to me,” Azula said, shrugging.

“You are both going back to prison the moment we return,” Zuko said with chilling finality. “This is not up for discussion.”

“Very well,” Ozai said. He sat facing Zuko, a mocking smirk on his face. “Then make me talk.”

That was an obvious challenge, the implications of which made Noriko’s skin crawl with unease. She did not know either of them well enough to determine the lengths to which they would go to achieve their goals. But she could guess enough that she had no desire to find out more.

“No one is getting tortured in my house,” she said coldly. “No one is fighting, either.”

“Yes, we wouldn’t want to burn your precious collection of scrolls,” Azula said.

Noriko bit her lip.

“It is indeed valuable to me,” she said, forcing her voice to remain calm.

“Well, that’s it, Zuzu,” Azula said, raising. “Mummy seems happy with her quiet, boring life. I guess we can all go home. And you will finally sleep easier once Dad and me are in chains again.”

Was she? Well, she liked her job and she enjoyed helping out at the temple. Life was—good. Quiet, and boring, and with not much to look forward to, but good nonetheless.

At least she wasn’t imprisoned. Nothing held her in one place or another. She was free to travel, and often had. After all, it did not matter where she went. Little mattered in the long run except for what she could put on paper.

Zuko was watching her, she realized. But he said nothing.

They left her table and her house, going back to the camp where their armed escort waited. Fire Nation tents were no doubt a source of worry and discomfort to the peaceful population of Yangchen. It struck her then that this young man was risking a lot just to come here and find her…

He walked slowly, the Avatar leading Azula and Ozai a good few steps ahead of him. Noriko was able to catch up to them easily.

“Can I have a word?” she asked.

His face was almost impossible to make out in the darkness. The moon hasn’t risen yet, only the stars twinkling in the night sky.

Zuko lingered, as per her request. When they were alone, she said quietly: “Your father doesn’t want me to regain my memories.”

“Probably not,” Zuko said. “We are not on the best of terms.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Noriko smiled faintly. “Listen, I appreciate you coming here. I really do. And I wish—” she hesitated. “If I truly am your mother, I wish I could remember that. However, if nothing can be done—“

“I’m not leaving it like this,” Zuko said grimly. “He’s hiding something, I know he is. Something he doesn’t want you to remember.”

“Even so,” Noriko said. “It’s his choice whether or not he wants to help.”

Zuko was silent for a long moment.

“Is it all right if we come back to this conversation tomorrow?” he asked eventually.

“Yes, of course,” she replied.

“Then goodnight, Mother,” he said, and was gone.

***

The rising sun woke her, as it always did. Suu had finally reappeared, too – the cat owl wasn’t fond of strangers in their house, and now glared reproachfully at Noriko as she settled to sleep on her perch. Not for the first time, Noriko wondered where she went to at night and what kind of adventures she was having.

She was about to start preparing breakfast for them both when she heard knocking on her door. Was it Zuko? Surely it was way too early.

It wasn’t Zuko.

“Hello, Mother,” Azula said, with a smile so aggressively innocent that Noriko took an involuntary step back.

“Hello,” she said, hoping the girl wouldn’t take her reluctance the wrong way. Although, given what she learned yesterday, her hope was in vein.

“I have orders from Fire Lord Zuko,” Azula said, still smiling. “We are to set out for that mountain you spoke of. They will catch up later. Are you ready?”

“Is that so,” Noriko said, unimpressed.

“Amazing,” Azula sighed. “You’ve only known me for a day and already you accuse me of lying?”

Noriko swallowed a few unkind remarks, settling for: “He sent you here without any equipment or appropriate clothing?”

“Zuko will carry my packs,” Azula said. “Since he is such a caring older brother and benevolent Fire Lord.”

“Of course,” Noriko said, nodding.

Azula’s smile faded eventually.

“All right, fine. Zuko wasn’t going to invite me along so I escaped. But if we move now, they will have no choice but to follow us.”

“That sounds plausible,” Noriko agreed. “The only problem is that I have no reason to go with you.”

Azula’s golden eyes narrowed. She leaned against the doorframe with her arms folded, a sort of forced nonchalance.

“No, you don’t,” she said. “I want to go, though. I’ve been in prison for the past six months, am I not allowed a vacation?”

Six months? The girl couldn’t be older than fifteen. Had she been imprisoned for so long? Was it on Zuko’s orders? Could he be so heartless after all, and to his own sister?

She tried to reserve her judgement until she knew more. But it was painful to imagine Azula locked up in a small room, unable to leave, unable to see the sky. Surely she did not seem particularly nice, but what had she done to deserve such treatment?

“All right,” Noriko said.

Hopefully she wouldn’t end up regretting it.

***

Down in the valley, the day was perfect for travelling. Noriko soon forgot her worries or the silent, sullen presence accompanying her. Their steps carried them to the ornate gate which marked the beginning of the path. It was familiar to her, one of the very things in the world she felt she really knew. She touched the gate with the tip of her fingers – a sturdy, Earth Kingdom construction – and drew strength from it.

They climbed up the side of the mountain through the dense forest, and were cresting the first hill before Zuko, Aang, and Ozai caught up with them.

“You found my note!” Azula said, faux-happily.

Zuko was glaring at her. Noriko, fearing that it would come to violence, said, “We’ve come all this way, might as well keep moving.”

“You don’t understand what a bad idea this is,” Zuko said in a low, dangerous voice.

“But you brought Dad,” Azula pointed out.

Zuko pressed his lips together.

“Fine,” he said. “But if you step out of line—”

“Yes, yes, I know.”

The best thing to do was to keep moving. Soon they were passing the tree line, suddenly able to see everything over the low bushes and knee-high grass. With the vegetation no longer shielding them from the wind, Noriko felt coldness seep through her bones. She slowed down and concentrated on her breath and the warmth of the sun on her face, drawing the heat into her core.

Aang, the most serious she had even seen him and strangely cold towards Zuko, regained some of his boyish enthusiasm when he saw the sights.

The entirety of Yangchen was visible from here. The temple itself, its ancient bones visible through newer elements added over time to accommodate a different people and a growing populace; then there were smaller buildings surrounding it, Noriko’s own house included. The mountains cradling Yangchen stood in sharp relief against the blue sky, their jagged edges softened by clouds sailing by.

“How did you end up here?” Aang asked curiously.

“Many refugees came here during the war,” was all Noriko said.

She would never have found the place, probably, if it weren’t for Lien Hua. The two of them ended up at a village that had been the site of a recent battle between Fire Nation troops and Earth Kingdom soldiers. They did what they could for the people, and perhaps the experience wouldn’t be that traumatizing if Noriko hadn’t gone back to the Fire Nation Colonies shortly afterwards, where the battle was a cause for massive celebration.

“Hiding in the mountains while the rest of their country fought,” Azula said in a scornful voice.

Noriko felt a pang of unease.

“Not everyone can fight,” she said.

“Some people are completely useless, I agree,” Azula said.

The temple elders had explained patiently that if Yangchen began militarizing, their little haven would come under the attention of the Fire Nation intelligence. That suited no one, especially not the number of deserters from the Fire Nation army who had also found a home there.

Now that she thought of it, they would probably be pretty terrified, what with the arrival of the Fire Lord himself.

They walked on. The path grew wilder and wilder, the winds getting stronger. Soon they had to step in the shadow of the great mountain as the path wound its way around it, with snow lying in the creeks.

She had to admire their sheer tenacity. Ozai, Zuko, and Azula walked in heavy silence, and Noriko was beginning to suspect they would all rather collapse from exhaustion than admit weariness. Indeed, for all that they very aggressively ignored one another, an obvious contest was going on over who can walk with the most unaffected expression.

The fog crept up on them without warning, dampening their clothing and clouding their vision. And as the sun descended from the sky, only a faint glow marking its passage, the temperature dropped.

“There’s a shelter nearby,” Noriko said, ostensibly to Aang but loud enough to reach them all. “We can rest for the night and reach the summit tomorrow.”

They had to lose some height and cross the valley before moving on, and in here, amongst the snow-dusted evergreens, a small cottage had been built to shelter travellers. Thankfully it was empty, as few people were foolish enough to venture so high this early in the spring.

“Charming,” said Azula, unimpressed.

It was a crude little building, true, but with enough floor space to accommodate them and some supplies that would come in handy. Most importantly, it had a fireplace and a small stack of wood ready.

“You could have stayed behind,” Zuko said, too worn out to be truly angry anymore.

“Admittedly, chains are easier to bear than your exalted company, oh Fire Lord.”

Noriko sighed and begun building the fire, partly because she wanted to do something with her hands, and partly because she didn’t want to look at anyone.

“Why did Zuko imprison you?” she asked.

“So that he can sit unchallenged on the throne he stole,” she said. “You would love to hear the story, Mother, of how your precious Zuko enlisted foreigners and the Avatar himself to be rid of Father and me.”

Noriko would like to hear the story, but not as much as she wanted to know what had happened that made Azula hate her so. But rather than try and sort out that matter, she put up the wood in a neat pile and then lit it up with a gesture.

The five of them regressed into the hostile, awkward silence that Noriko was becoming used to. And while the walls kept out the howling wind and the fire chased away the cold, confinement brought them all too close together for comfort.

She started on the dinner. Wordlessly, Zuko and Aang got up to help her.

The two of them worked well together, at ease in each other’s company even though they were at odds with one another. She had no such close bond with anyone; the thought hurt a little.

Azula knelt leisurely by the fireplace. The flames turned blue, eating through the wood much quicker than they would otherwise. Ozai settled at the back of the cottage, silent and watchful. Noriko regarded him curiously as she brought him a cup of tea.

“Don’t you want to sit closer to the fire?” she asked. “You must be cold—you’re not a firebender, are you?”

The sudden silence pressed on her from all sides. She was conscious of the tension in the room, and of his golden eyes on her, burning with an emotion she could not identify. His mouth was pressed in a thin line.

Should she apologize? Or should she act like nothing happened? She opted for the latter, bringing the other cup of tea to Azula. The girl smiled at her, and her smile was frightening.

Noriko rose to her feet and set the tray on the table.

“I’m going to go and gather more wood,” she said.

Oh, spirits. The cold air bit at her exposed skin, but she could finally _breathe_.

Snow crunched under her boots as she walked. Something small and furry looked at her quizzically and then hopped away before she could determine its species.

Predictably, the outside woodshed was almost completely empty. It was considered good manners for the passing travellers to refill it, but the winter had been long and brutal. Perhaps in response to the great comet which lit up the sky during the end of last summer. Nature liked balance, after all.

There was an axe in the shed, in moderately good condition. She swung it around experimentally and then noticed that Ozai was approaching her.

“Let me,” he said stiffly.

She handed the axe over. There was no reason to be worried, she told herself. He was only offering to help. Sure, he wasn’t the nicest of men, but… it would be fine. Surely.

Probably.

He selected a tree a little way away from the cottage and hefted the axe before bringing it around in a perfect swing.

Bender or not, he was a tall man, broad-shouldered and powerfully built. Noriko herself didn’t mind physical labour, but she wasn’t about to argue when his strength and bodyweight were such an obvious advantage. Besides, he looked like he wouldn’t mind smashing something into splinters.

Once the dent in the trunk became sizeable enough, he knocked the tree down with a kick. It fell into a cloud of snow, fine as dust particles, glittering in the setting sun.

She thought he might have forgotten her presence. He stood with his back to her, shoulders drawn painfully tight. The axe lay loose in his grip.

“Can I see your hands?” she asked quietly.

“What for?”

She sighed.

“Let me see them. Please.”

His golden eyes were hostile and there was something decidedly threatening about the way he casually embedded the axe a good few inches into the fallen tree, with no apparent effort. But he let her approach him and pulled off his gloves at her prompting.

It would be pointless to ask if it hurt; Ozai wouldn’t tell. But his fingers were stiff and pale, deathly cold when she touched them.

She knew the trick well enough after years spent living in the mountains. Fire burnt bright in her core, and with her breathing slow and steady, her movements gentle, she could bring out the warmth and spread it through another’s body. If she wasn’t careful, she could do more harm than good, burning the damaged tissue while the pain didn’t even register for the person she was trying to help. But she had had practice.

Soon enough, his fingers regained their normal colour. He flexed them experimentally, brushing against her own skin.

“I apologize,” she said. “If I was being insensitive earlier. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

 There it was again – the look in his eyes she could not decipher.

“You didn’t,” he said. Then, after a pause: “I was a firebender. My bending was stolen from me.”

“Oh,” she said.

Such things were possible? Well, she was a living example that anything could be lost. But she thought of the fire inside her, always ready to respond to her command. She never had to fear darkness or cold; she rarely had to fear other humans. To be stripped of that was unthinkable.

“In this case, I’m really sorry,” she smiled faintly at him. “At least I don’t remember what it is I lost.”

“No,” he said. “You don’t.”

There was nothing soft or kind about his voice or his face. She had hoped that her family, if she got to meet them one day, if she even had one – well. She assumed they would be happy to see her, at least. Instead there was this man, his eyebrows drawn together, voice more used to issuing orders than asking questions.

“But you’re happy here,” he said rather than asked.

“I—suppose so,” she replied.

She was doing better than most. She had her house, her job, her scrolls and her paintings. The people at Yangchen accepted her, as they accepted all travellers from all walks of life, so long as they shared common values. She just wondered what it would be like to have her feelings run deeper than the surface. She wondered what it was like to _want_ something.

It wasn’t a bad life, she now knew. It just wasn’t hers.

Ozai was closer than she expected him to be. He was handsome, at least; all defined lines and sharp angles, with burning golden eyes and jet-black hair that fell loosely past his shoulders. And he was reaching out to rest his hand against her cheek.

His touch was gentle, almost hesitant at first. But then his large hand curved possessively around the side of her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone, fingers sliding beneath her hair.

“Don’t,” she said, flinching.

She tried to imagine what it was like for Ozai, with a long-lost wife treating him like a complete stranger. Deciphering his emotions was an ordeal, truth, but it must have been painful in ways she could not comprehend. Or perhaps he did not care at all; he honestly did not seem the type to care. Even so, she softened her voice.

“I really don’t remember you at all,” she said.

She avoided his gaze, cursing her own cowardice. For a moment she expected him to say something, or maybe press the issue; instead he withdrew his hand, and yet again there was nothing but cold air touching her skin.

A sound of footsteps broke through the tense silence. She was grateful for it.

Zuko came towards them, fur coat draped loosely around his shoulders. He came to a sudden stop and narrowed his eyes.

“Why are you holding an axe?”

Ozai did not even turn around.

“Would you rather have me chop wood bare-handed?” he asked coldly.

“Mum? Can you get back inside?” Zuko asked, an underlying threat in his voice.

“We were just talking,” Noriko said. “You have nothing to worry about.”

Zuko moved again, positioning himself between her and Ozai. The scar was a prominent feature, but the family resemblance between the two men was unmistakable. She would wager neither was too happy about that.

“You don’t know what he’s capable of,” Zuko said.

_I don’t know what you are capable of, either_ , she wanted to say.

She left them behind and went back inside.

***

Dinner was tense. Settling in for the night was worse.

“Aww, Zuzu,” Azula crooned, chin propped on her elegantly folded hands. “Are you going to keep watch all night in case one of us tries to hurt Mummy?”

Zuko, who had sat with his back to the stone wall and apparently intended to remain so, glared at her in turn.

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Kind of silly of you to leave the guards back at the camp,” she said. “Or the servants, for that matter.”

“This is between our family, Azula,” Zuko said. “I’m not dragging anyone else into this.”

“Then what is _he_ doing here?”

Aang’s cheerful disposition was wearing off the longer he had to spend with them, but his smile was infectious and his voice light.

“Hey, I was your great-grandfather in my previous life,” he said. “Doesn’t that make me part of the family?”

Zuko’s shoulders shook with laughter while Azula turned away in disgust.

The previous Avatar was Roku. An entire scroll had been dedicated to his crimes against the Fire Nation and Fire Lord Sozin. Was she related to him, then, or was Ozai?

That was an odd little thought. She had spent the seven years of her life rootless, blown about like a leaf on the wind. Now she was finding out she had ties to the Royal Family and Avatar Roku himself.

Noriko smiled bitterly, pulling the fur covers tight about her. It seemed more and more likely that they had her confused with someone else.

After a night of uneasy sleep, they barely said a word to one another in the morning. Noriko brushed and re-braided her hair, ignoring Azula’s pointed remarks about Earth Kingdom peasants and their peasant hairdos. Yet in a way, the girl’s open hostility was a welcome reprieve; she at least wouldn’t give a damn when their little quest failed.

The sun wasn’t yet visible in the sky when they left. After the warmth and cosiness of the shelter, the cold was even more brutal. More snow must have piled up in the night because they were up to their knees in it.

Zuko brought up the rear and Noriko fell back, letting Aang lead the way. The boy was light on his feet, clearly at home in the mountains. Air Nomads resided in remote locations at high altitudes, Noriko recalled, which is why Sozin’s crushing victory over them was so impressive. At least, according to Fire Nation history books she had read.

But Fire Nation history books would present different, sometimes conflicting opinions depending on when – and by whom – they were written. It was driving Noriko insane. History was confusing enough without being re-edited every few years to suit the whims of the current politics.

And now the Fire Lord himself was walking beside her, dark shadows underneath his eyes.

“Are you well?” she asked. They would not be overheard, not with the howling wind.

Zuko’s curt nod was all the reply she got.

“You don’t trust them,” she said carefully.

“I don’t. You shouldn’t either,” Zuko said, voice flat. “They are dangerous, Mother.”

That she could easily believe. But something else gnawed at her as she watched Azula and Ozai, walking side by side with none of the ease or comfort Zuko and Aang displayed. They were ostensibly on the same side – that is to say, the side opposite to Zuko – but it gave the impression that only common enemy united them, rather an actual familial ties.

“Was I really such a terrible mother to her?” Noriko found herself asking.

“No!” Zuko said. Immediately after he fell into troubled silence, not meeting her gaze. “I mean—you spent more time with me. But she never _wanted_ to spend time with you. And besides, it’s _Azula_. No amount of attention was ever enough for her.”

“I see,” Noriko said quietly.

Zuko bit his lip.

“Everyone adored her,” he said. “Father, grandfather, our tutors, friends, servants… I envied her that, once. I never thought this could be a bad thing.” He took a deep, steading breath. “I did not imprison Azula and our father because I hate them,” he said. “Or because they threaten my rule. At least—” he hesitated. “I don’t think I did.”

She did not quite know what to say that, especially since it wasn’t really her he was talking to. He must have realized this when he looked at her, noted her blank gaze, because his face fell.

“I can’t believe you don’t remember us,” he said.

She looked away.

They had climbed their way out of the valley. Ahead of them lay the narrow ridge leading to the summit – an imposing, jagged-edged rock, partially obscured by fog.

Up here, all was quiet save for the wind and their own footsteps. Sky stretched above them, endlessly blue, the sun somehow closer even despite the cold temperature. They could see for miles in every direction, the smaller mountains, green valleys in between, ribbons of shimmering blue that were the rivers. Noriko forgot her own worries, forgot even the sheer drop on both sides of the narrow path, lost in the view. Not for the first time, it struck her that something this pure and perfect had to belong to the Spirit World. She had tried and failed to capture its beauty with colourful inks, but nothing human-made could do it justice.

At last, they were climbing up the uneven stone steps. At last, they stood in silence on top of the mountain – a total absence of sound, so high above the world it seemed no longer part of it.

There were exceptions, of course. A small shrine had been erected here more than a hundred years ago, as it was equal parts Air Nomads and Earth Kingdom. More recent was the wooden box hidden underneath it, where travellers left notes and prayers on little scraps of paper.

Aang seemed lost in thought, solemn beyond his years. She wondered if he could see something they couldn’t. Or perhaps it was the remnant of his culture, preserved in so remote a location that the Fire Nation could not be bothered to come and destroy it.

“What now, Fire Lord Zuko?” asked Azula, sitting cross-legged on a stone. “Do enlighten us with your wisdom.”

Zuko looked ready to answer her, but Noriko’s attention wasn’t on them. She saw a gleam of light in the sky, so far away that no one but Aang took notice.

“That’s Fenghuang, right?” Aang asked.

She nodded.

Zuko, Azula, and Ozai eventually saw her, too. Her great, colourful wings gleamed with the sun. She circled high above them, the very embodiment of grace, before spearing down and folding her wings to rest on the tallest rock.

Aang bowed to her and she inclined her head in turn.

“Avatar Aang,” she spoke.

“Fenghuang,” Aang said. “We’ve come to ask for your help.”

“I see,” she turned her head to look at each of them with her odd shining eyes. “So this is your family, child?” She said to Noriko, amusement ringing clear in her voice. “Three Fire Lords, former and current, and the Phoenix King who had managed to fall but failed to rise?”

“You know us?” Zuko asked.

“Yes,” said Fenghuang. “Nothing under the sun can be hidden from my gaze. And you have made quite a spectacle of yourselves.”

“Wait,” Zuko said. “Wait. You’re the Phoenix, right? Mum told us stories about you.”

“I am,” slowly, she turned her elegant head towards Ozai. “And I would very much like to know what you were hoping to achieve by invoking my name. You, who doesn’t understand the purpose and meaning of true sacrifice…”

Ozai, a man fuelled by arrogance and pride apparently, withstood her gaze with a steely expression and said nothing.

“So tell me,” Fenghuang said. “What is it that you seek from me?”

“We are looking for the spirit that took my mother’s memories,” Zuko said.

“There are many of us capable of such a feat. Do you know the spirit’s name?”

“Shouldn’t you?” asked Azula. “I thought you could see everything.”

“Only during the day,” Fenghuang said.

“What happens to you at night?” asked Azula.

“I die,” Fenghuang replied simply. “And every morning, I am reborn. Whatever happens in between does not concern me. Perhaps you could seek out the Moon Spirit instead.”

“Yes, what a wonderful idea,” Azula said. “Let’s seek out all the spirits. Haven’t you realized yet,” she turned to Zuko. “That Mum _wanted_ to forget us? She went to all this trouble and now here you are, seeking to undo all her hard work.”

Zuko clenched his fists.

“Shut up,” he said. “This isn’t true—”

“Yes,” Ozai said. “It is.”

He looked coldly at his son while Noriko tried to process the implications. She had always assumed that her memories were stolen from her. Had she really given them up? _Why_?

“You seem to be under the impression that I forced her into anything,” Ozai said calmly. “It was her own decision.”

“I don’t believe you,” Zuko said, flames engulfing his fists. “You’re lying—you two are always lying!”

Ozai’s smile turned cruel.

“See for yourself, then,” he said. Then, to Fenghuang, “The spirit’s name was Jiuweihu. Can you find her?”

“Please?” Aang added, glaring at Ozai.

Noriko stood between them, head bowed. Jiuweihu was a name familiar to her – a spirit she had already encountered once. Back then, she claimed to know nothing. In truth, if it had been Noriko’s own choice to surrender her memories, perhaps she could not be blamed.

Fenghuang spread her wings and took flight without further word. Zuko was still breathing harshly through his teeth. Aang looked at him, concern plain on his face, but Zuko would not accept comfort even from his friend.

It took almost an hour before the great spirit returned, accompanied by another one – a smaller birdlike creature, flying in the wake of Fenghuang’s magnificent tail. But she did not remain there for long.

As she dropped from the sky, Noriko saw her form shift into the one she was familiar with: a fox with nine tails.

Jiuweihu stretched and flicked her tails, projecting lazy arrogance despite her inhuman appearance.

“So,” she said. “You found me. Again. Do you have a more interesting question to ask this time, or is still about your memories?”

“Did I really give them up willingly?” Noriko asked.

“Yes,” Jiuweihu jumped onto the rock. “If this is all you wanted to know, I’ll be going now.”

“Wait!” Aang called. “Just tell us—”

“ _One_ question, Avatar. That’s all I agreed to answer, and she already asked it.”

Zuko said, with less conviction, “You’re lying.”

“Now _that’s_ not a very nice thing to say.” Jiuweihu circled him, flicking her tails in his face. “I’m a kind, benevolent spirit. I grant wishes! For a price.” A smile on a fox’s face only bared her teeth. “Of course, sometimes the price comes before the wish. But that’s hardly _my_ fault people don’t remember what it is they were going to wish for, after they surrender their names to me.”

“Nonetheless, my wife paid your price and you were foolish enough to strike a bargain in front of a witness,” Ozai said. “And now you owe us. You owe _me_.”

Jiuweihu sat back, narrowing her eyes.

“Very well, nobody’s perfect,” she said coolly. “What is your wish?”

Her name—her name wasn’t Noriko. It couldn’t have been. But she hadn’t asked, and she couldn’t recall any of them using it. Fire Lord Ozai had had a wife once, but her name wasn’t spoken or written down anywhere. She hadn’t thought much of it when Zuko became Fire Lord, when he first visited her, when she actually became interested in the Royal Family. But it was obvious—why hasn’t she found it out for herself? Was it as simple as finding out her _name_?

No, that was unlikely. Jiuweihu was a trickster spirit, her magic couldn’t have been so easily undone. A wish would presumably give her back her name, but—

But then she looked at Ozai, properly this time. A war, lost. His throne, fallen to the son he loathed. His bending, taken from him. She saw him for what he was – a man who defined himself by his power. Who now was nothing without it. And she knew at once what he was going to wish for.

Perhaps it would be better that way. The pain that drove their family apart need not concern her. She would go back to her cottage, Azula and Ozai would go back to their prison cells, and Zuko would sit on the throne, surrounded by—well by the looks of it, surrounded by friends who genuinely cared for him. So at least Zuko would be happy.

Or Ozai and Azula would win, kill the Avatar and Zuko, and begin the war anew. But such matters were beyond her – she was a scribe, an acolyte at the Temple, content with her small life. What use it was to worry what was happening miles away, or who sat on the throne?

Ozai was looking at her, she could feel it; still silent.

“Why are you asking _him_?” Zuko demanded. “It’s my mother—”

“Because he remembers and she doesn’t,” Jiuweihu said.

“It’s fine, Zuko,” Noriko said quietly. “I don’t mind.”

She did not need to care. She would be better off not caring. Life would be simpler, if she didn’t care.

“How can you—”

He could say nothing more. Azula moved before anyone had a chance to react, and had a firm grip of Zuko’s hair, a knife pressed tight to his throat.

“This is a lot more complicated than it needs to be,” she said. “I wouldn’t do that,” she added to Aang, who was holding out his staff.

“He is your _brother_ ,” Aang said, furious.

“And you are a sentimental idiot who wouldn’t take my father’s life,” said Azula sweetly. “And now you won’t risk Zuko’s. So shut up and let Dad make his wish, all right?”

“Don’t you dare,” Zuko hissed.

Noriko watched it all in rapt horror. Those children were going to start killing each other – no, she did not care. Now was a terrible time to start caring.

“If you don’t want to make a wish now, I can wait another seven years,” Jiuweihu said to Ozai. “Truly, I’m in no hurry. Sure, I was in the middle of something when Fenghuang brought me here, and now it’ll take forever to go back. She’s unlikely to give me a ride again. But hey, take your time. This is all quite interesting.”

Ozai said, through gritted teeth, “Restore her memories.”

It did not register, at first. Jiuweihu sighed dramatically and waved her tails; something inside Noriko’s mind broke, like a dam; memories came flooding—

***

_Seven years ago_

“It is done,” she said.

They knelt on the opposite sides of the low table. Ozai was watching her with an odd mixture of contempt and admiration.

_So that’s what it takes to win your respect_ , she wanted to say. But she had no more to say to this man, not after hearing what his father had ordered him to do, what he had _agreed_ to do.

She flinched. She could still see Azulon’s face before her, casually condemning her son to death. _You can have more children_ , he had told her. _Ozai needs to be taught a lesson_. _Every advantage can be lost._

He had never realized what he was drinking was poison, but she knew. And she watched him drink it, silent, tired of pleading for Zuko’s life. _Let him burn_ , she had thought viciously. _Let him_ —

She had killed a man in cold blood. She was a traitor, a murderer, no better now than what Ozai would have become. Her hands shook, badly.

“It is done,” she repeated, less sure this time. “A scroll with his seal and in his handwriting proclaims you his heir.”

Ozai’s mouth curved up. The expression on his face was terrifying – the sheer strength of the desperation and excitement he felt transformed him into something else entirely. Everything he had ever wanted, laid neatly at his feet.

But he was cautious.

“They will recognize forgery,” he said.

“You never did,” she said.

His eyes snapped to her, furious. She was past caring. So she may have used her calligraphy skills to trick her husband once or twice – what did it matter, compared to what she had done today?

The tightness in her throat threatened to suffocate her. She had said goodbye to Zuko and Azula – her children deserved a better mother than the monster she now knew herself to be. Possibly they deserved better than Ozai, but who was she to judge him? Ozai wasn’t betraying the Fire Nation for his own selfish purposes; she was.

“Any witnesses?” he asked.

“Just one.”

She watched her words sink in.

He was silent for a long time, hesitant; she had seldom seen him that way. Almost never, in fact. But now she was pathetically grateful for it.

_Iroh will know what you did_ , Ozai had said. _You may think him kind and merciful, but he will be honour-bound to avenge his father. At best, it will be exile for you. At worst, execution for us both. Nevertheless, your children will live with the shame. Are you prepared for that?_

No, Ozai had to become Fire Lord. But her secret would threaten his rule. They both knew that.

She wondered, in an oddly detached way, if he would do it himself or simply hand her a knife and wait in the next room, to keep his conscience clean. Burning her body would take but a few minutes. And tomorrow he will walk with his head high, free and untethered, over the corpses of his father and his wife, to where all his dreams and ambitions led.

She had loved this man, she thought bitterly.

The silence stretched between them. Eventually he said, “I’m not going to kill you.”

Ah. So it was the knife, then.

“I see,” she said flatly.

“Perhaps—an exile—” Ozai said.

He paused, angry with himself.

For her part, she was overcome with a strange mixture of emotion. Reason won in the end.

“That’s dangerous,” she said. “Even if Iroh himself doesn’t find me, someone from his faction could. Then he will have no choice but to go to war against you.”

“I’m not afraid of Iroh,” Ozai lied. “But a civil war is the last thing we need right now. If there was a way for you to forget what you did, it wouldn’t matter if anyone found you.”

Her mother had told her tales of spirits. She herself had sought them out in her youth, until such things became improper for a lady pretending not to be in any way related to the treacherous Avatar Roku. And there was one, living close to humans, sometimes among them. A liar, a trickster. Not to be trusted.

She bit her lip, conscious that her distress was obvious, that Ozai would take it for the weakness it was.

“There is such a spirit,” she said. “But—”

“What?”

“I will forget everything,” she said, voice hollow. It was no more than she deserved, such was the magnitude of her crime. Even so—“Zuko, Azula. You. Everything… my entire life.”

And Ozai said, “Good.”


	2. Chapter 2

She came back to the present, blinking her eyes. All was confusion – Jiuweihu speeding down the mountain when they weren’t paying attention, the shock on Azula’s face, her knife still at Zuko’s throat, disbelief in Zuko’s eyes—they were older, so much older, almost adults now since the last time she saw them—Aang lowering his staff.

“Mum?”

\--Ozai, almost unrecognizable in plain winter clothing, his neat hair in disarray. Thinner and broken, a shadow of the man he had aspired to be.

“Ursa? Do you remember us now?” he asked.

Wordlessly, she raised her hand and struck him hard across the face.

“I’m going to take it as a yes,” Ozai said drily.

“Mum!” Zuko shouted, his voice a decade younger. He must have temporarily forgotten Azula was holding him hostage.

She turned to them, unable to speak. There was so much she had to say – apologies and explanations, enough to make up for seven years’ worth of absence. She couldn’t possibly put all of it to words—

“No,” Azula said. “No. Don’t come any closer!”

Her voice rose in strength. There was a deranged note to it, more terrifying than the knife she kept at Zuko’s throat.

“Azula, please—”

“Shut up,” Azula’s eyes narrowed in hatred. “You—you betrayed me,” she said to Ozai. “You were supposed to—we were going to take them down! Together!”

She was laughing now, hysterically.

“Oh, but you are _weak_. You are nothing without your bending, do you hear me? You will always be nothing!”

She pushed Zuko away, dropping the knife in disgust. Then she kicked it towards Ozai with a malicious smile.

“Take it. Defend yourself, if you can.”

“Azula—”

Jet of blue fire cut her off. Ursa was never much of a fighter but managed to deflect it from herself and Ozai. She underestimated Azula’s power, as the heat seared her skin even from a distance.

And then another blow came, and another. She was aware of Aang and Zuko shouting something, a commotion happening outside the wall of blue fire which descended upon her. She only barely managed to keep it from frying the two of them to a crisp.

She had no further to go. Behind her was Ozai and the rocky outcrop that separated them from the jagged side of the mountain. They would fall to their deaths or they would burn.

Azula stepped forward, surrounded by the fire. She smiled at the sight of them.

“Father said I would get to kill you,” she said serenely. “It’s the only reason I agreed to come.”

Ursa felt her strength waning, her fighting stance a parody of itself. The heat dried her eyes and blurred her vision.

“Azula, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry—”

“Stop that,” Ozai said. “This is madness—”

She knew the move. A lifetime ago, she had watched Ozai practice it in the training yard. Later she sat there with Azula and Zuko, the girl’s attention completely captivated by her father’s bending. Ursa had to physically restrain her from trying it herself.

Now Azula moved her arms in a sweeping arch, lightning following her outstretched fingers. It was graceful, effortless, eerily beautiful.

She saw a bright flash of light, drowning out the hatred in her daughter’s eyes. She felt Ozai embrace her, a second before the crack of thunder tore through the silence.

Something exploded; amazingly, it wasn’t her. It felt that way as she was showered with pieces of rock, some of them red-hot. But she was whole, unharmed. Once the dust settled, she saw what remained of a stone wall that separated them from Azula.

Aang and Zuko must have broken through Azula’s fire. She paid them little mind, fury contorting her features. Her attacks were powerful but erratic, her defences virtually non-existent. In the limited space, speed and agility was everything. But Azula wasn’t taking full advantage of her surroundings, dead-set on burning and maiming where she should have dodged—

Ursa watched her fall.

Her daughter’s body, limp and motionless on the scorched ground. Zuko’s expression was stricken, as was Aang’s. She didn’t—she couldn’t blame either of them, not really. Even as a young child Azula was never this careless while fighting.

She slid out of Ozai’s embrace and rushed to her side. For a moment she saw the pale face, a trickle of blood from a cut on her temple—no, she couldn’t have been—she wasn’t—

With shaking fingers, she felt for the pulse on Azula’s neck, bent down to listen. And it was there, blood pumping through the artery, her breathing rapid and shallow but _there_.

Ursa drew in a breath of her own.

“She’s alive,” she said calmly. “We need to get her down as fast as possible—”

“I’m on it,” Aang said, already moving.

He took a flying leap over the rocky edge, spinning his staff in mid-air until it sprouted sheets of orange material, rather like a sail. The wind caught him easily and he glided downwards.

He could fly. Of course he could.

Now it was the four of them, with Azula unconscious on the ground. Zuko looked down on her with a grim expression. Then he forced his eyes upwards, to where Ozai stood.

“Is this why you came here?” he asked. His voice was calm, but so was the sea before a storm. “You just wanted your firebending back? You brought Azula here so that she could kill Mum?”

“How are you surprised by this?” Ozai asked disdainfully.

“I just,” Zuko said, and shook his head. “I wish I didn’t have to be.”

Ursa looked up at him. He seemed so lost, so helpless. So much like the little boy she had left behind – foolishly, stupidly abandoned, out of fear and guilt, for reasons that had once been important.

“Zuko,” she said gently.

He fell into her embrace without a further word. Taller now, taller than her, almost as tall as his father. But his eyes were the same. His face was the same. She could hardly see him, tears blurring her vision. When she touched his face she felt the rough scar underneath her fingers, smelled the smoke on his clothes – her son, her Zuko. Fully grown.

She hadn’t been there to watch him grow. Whatever made him into the man he was, she would never know.

“I’m sorry,” she said, holding him as tight as she could. Her voice broke; she couldn’t possibly say everything that needed to be said.

“It’s okay, Mum,” Zuko said. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

Why was he reassuring her? It should be the other way around – she should be holding him, protecting him. Instead she felt that she might collapse if he let her go.

When he did, she managed to regain her composure somehow, even forcing a smile onto her lips. She had had practice smiling after eleven years spent at Court. Not even the sight of that horrible scar could break her, with the knowledge that Ozai put it there in some mad exercise of cruelty and control.

There would be time later, once Azula was safe, to have words with her husband.

***

Under any other circumstances, she would have loved to fly. But she kept Azula’s head in her lap, steading her. Aang’s sky bison, Appa, flew as calmly as possible while still maintaining speed. But the winds blew wild and unpredictable in the mountains, and the great beast rocked with them.

She felt them lose height, treetops coming into her field of vision. Soon, Appa’s feet were touching the ground. They were at Yangchen, the old buildings more familiar to her now than her native Fire Nation architecture.

They had gathered quite a crowd. Temple acolytes took one look at Azula and moved to shift her to a pair of stretchers without a single word needing to be said. Ursa followed them, helpless not to do so, even as she felt Lien Hua take her arm.

“Sit down,” the woman said. “You’re making them nervous.”

She watched them examine her daughter. No apparent head injury, no signs of internal or external bleeding – Ursa sat still, motionless, awaiting their sentence.

“She’ll be fine,” they told her.

Even so, she would not believe them until Azula awoke.

Lien Hua sighed heavily and sat down beside her. She took Ursa’s hands into her own, looking them over with a critical eye. They were covered with blisters and cuts, aching dully in a way that hadn’t quite registered yet.

“I take it you found your family,” the woman said, reaching for a fresh roll of bandage and jars of medicine.

“Yes,” Ursa replied.

“We could see the fire from here.”

She worked with deft hands, after a lifetime of dressing wounds.

“So—”

“My daughter hates me,” Ursa explained. “My husband has an emotional breakdown over the fact that neither of his children respects him anymore. And my teenage son is trying to shoulder responsibility that drove his father, grandfather and great-grandfather insane. It’s all a bit much.”

Lien Hua raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

These people accepted her, Ursa thought, discomfort gnawing at her insides. They knew she was Fire Nation and they took her in nonetheless, even finding uses for her firebending that she did not know existed. But if Ozai had his way, if the Fire Nation succeeded, their way of life would be destroyed. She herself had thought them uncivilized, their culture stagnant. It all seemed so clear and logical back at the Palace, when her only exposure to Earth Kingdom was through news of their army’s triumphs.

“Thank you,” she said once her hands were bandaged properly.

Zuko arrived with two guards in tow. He had put on a more formal robe on top of his simple travel clothes, and an air of authority along with it. At his prompting, the guards took place on both sides on the room.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Lien Hua asked.

“Just a precaution,” Zuko said. “Mother.”

He bowed his head and she bowed in turn. The guards were too well disciplined to react, but she felt their eyes on her nonetheless.

“How is she?”

“Likely to wake up soon,” Ursa said neutrally.

“I see. Can I have a word?”

She followed him outside into the deserted corridor. Zuko paced the length of it and came to stand with his hands rested on the window sill. Something was obviously troubling him.

“I haven’t asked if you wanted to return to the Capital with us.”

In truth, she hadn’t even considered it. The Islands were so far away from here – she was born and raised in the Colonies until her thirteenth year, but after marrying Ozai she seldom left their villa, save for when they were summoned to the Palace or their vacation on Ember Island. Capital was home – had been. Maybe it could be so again.

“There really wasn’t time to think about it,” Ursa said.

“I’m just asking in case we need to leave in a hurry,” Zuko said drily.

As if on cue, they heard the sound of raised voices.

Zuko sighed. From the folds of his robes he withdrew the gold headpiece fashioned into the distinctive five-pronged flame. He raised his arms to pin it to his top-knot, but Ursa stopped him.

“May I?” she asked.

Her son looked at her in surprise, but handed the crown over, soft smile stretching his lips. He had to bow his head now for Ursa to be able to do anything with his hair, but neither of them minded.

It was a small gesture, nothing she hadn’t done before, although never with this particular headpiece. She secured it to Zuko’s top-knot with a long gold pin, solemn and silent.

“It suits you,” she said, smiling. Her son – her Fire Lord, now – embraced her in turn.

She would have loved for the moment to last, but time did not wait on either of them. They followed the sound of raised voices to the great hall, where they held all public gatherings as it was the only room which could accommodate everyone living here.

At the moment, Yangchen’s elders stood opposite the Fire Nation Royal Guard. A horrible suspicion overcame her, but Zuko said quietly, “No, they invited us to stay here. And since the alternative was to establish a military camp right outside the doors of the Temple, we figured it might be wiser to accept.”

 _We_ , she thought. Was he referring to himself and Aang?

“Why is this man in chains?” one of the elders was asking.

“Fire Lord Zuko’s orders,” the man in the captain’s uniform said stiffly.

“This is a temple! A place of peace and meditation, we don’t keep prisoners here!”

The prisoner in question wasn’t visible from her vantage point, but Ursa could take an educated guess as to his identity.

Once Zuko walked in, his Guard bowed deeply. Ozai was brought to kneel on the floor.

“We have disturbed your peace and brought dangerous criminals into your temple,” Zuko said. “For that, I apologize. We will leave as soon as the other prisoner regains her consciousness.”

“I’m sorry, ‘the other prisoner’? You mean the _girl_?”

“She is badly injured, she needs rest!”

“You are not going to put _her_ in chains, too?”

Zuko’s face remained impassive; his soldiers’ were less so. Such blatant disrespect of the Fire Lord’s authority was unthinkable. A crime punishable by death, or worse.

“If she hadn’t been forcibly restrained, two people would have been dead,” Zuko said. “That was less than three hours ago. I’m not taking any chances.”

“The most gentle of creatures will strike out if threatened,” one of the elders said coldly. “That does not mean it’s dangerous. And it is our duty to care for the sick and helpless.”

“If you think she is helpless then you’re lucky she’s not awake to hear you call her so,” Zuko said. “And she is of the Fire Nation, and therefore bound by our laws.”

“But we are not _in_ the Fire Nation, my lord,” another spoke. “You said you come in peace, but now you bring us violence and chains. Is that how you command the loyalty of your people? You force them to kneel before you and then execute those who refuse to obey?”

Ursa was afraid to breathe. She could see the grim look in the soldiers’ eyes, could feel their knife-sharp focus as they prepared to respond to the insult. Only Zuko’s silence kept them at bay.

They needed Aang, she thought. His presence would diffuse the situation. He was a hero in people’s eyes, a remnant of the days when the world existed in harmony. A symbol of peace and freedom, not of aggression.

But Aang wasn’t here. Zuko was.

“Unchain him,” Zuko said.

He was obeyed in an instant, of course. No proper Fire Nation citizen would think of defying the one who wore the crown of flames.

The heavy iron cuffs were taken from Ozai’s wrists. He stood up, stone-faced, his gaze locked with Zuko’s.

They were so alike in appearance, Ursa thought. And Zuko walked and spoke like his father, subconsciously trying to embody the one defining figure of power and authority which hung over him his entire life. He did not think like Ozai, that much was apparent; more concerned with staying faithful to his ideals than playing to an audience. But the audience was _there_ , and if he were to remain Fire Lord, he needed his people’s loyalty. Ozai’s presence challenged that. Bound and imprisoned he wasn’t a threat, but as he was now, he was confusing the soldiers who had followed him before.

And Zuko brought him here, because he believed it was the only way to bring her memories back. The very memories she had given up willingly, abandoning her children to Ozai’s whims…

No, she could not think of it right now.

“With your permission, I could watch over him,” she said.

Zuko’s brow furrowed. He did not like the idea, as she knew he wouldn’t. But it would satisfy the elders, who knew her as Noriko and considered her one of them, and the soldiers wouldn’t be forced to doubt and question their Fire Lord’s orders if the subject of those orders were to be removed from their sight.

Besides, she was fairly certain Ozai wasn’t a danger to her. And she knew, with stone-cold certainty, that if he tried to raise a hand against Zuko ever again, nothing would save him from _her_.

***

The atmosphere of the temple suited Aang well, it seemed. He was currently entertaining a group of kids with his airbending, even taking some for a short flight on Appa. He got along with the older acolytes, too. Their customs stemmed from Earth Kingdom mostly, but living high up in the mountains required a certain level of detachment from the world that must have reminded him of the Air Nomad culture.

Ursa and Ozai watched as he rode around the courtyard perched on top of a spinning ball of air, laughing joyously while the kids tried to catch him.

Ozai gritted his teeth.

“And this is the famed Avatar,” he hissed. “The world’s only hope. Well I weep for this world if that’s where it has to look for hope.”

“He is thirteen,” Ursa reminded him.

“Even Zuko wasn’t this careless at thirteen.”

“No, from what I heard you have given him much to care about.”

Ozai was wise enough to keep silent.

The two of them stayed out of sight, in the secluded corridor of an upper floor. Evening was falling. Soon it would be time for supper, and Azula had yet to awake…

Ursa’s heart sank when she saw Lien Hua approach them with an expression that spoke, loud and clear, of bad news she did not know how to phrase, and would do anything not to have to.

“How is she?” she asked, schooling her voice to remain neutral.

“Awake. Lucid,” Lien Hua said. Then, with a deep breath: “She does not want to see you.”

Ah. It was—good. Better than she had hoped. Azula wasn’t dead. There would yet be time to mend their broken relationship.

There was no need for the stinging in her eyes and the pressure in her throat. None at all.

“Thank you,” she said hoarsely.

“Your son stationed half of his men inside her room,” Lien Hua said with bitter disapproval. “This is no way to treat the injured.”

“He is concerned with the safety of the healers,” Ursa said. “Do you think she will be well enough to travel in the morning?”

“Honestly? No.”

The thought came unbidden to her mind – perhaps it would be better for Azula to remain here, away from her family, among the kind and gentle people who wished her no harm. Would she learn to accept them, and after that, herself? Or would her violent nature drive them away before she had a chance to heal? Would she flourish away from the weight of her past and expectations laid on her, or would she fester in bitterness after being abandoned yet again? Ursa ought to ask her herself. But Azula did not want to see her – or did she? She had refused Ursa’s company many times in the past only to resent her for complying with her wishes. Was it wise to do as she said, or was she meant to insist, assure the girl that her mother was there for her?

She did not know. How poorly she knew her own daughter…

“Well, we shall see,” Ursa said, voice hollow. “I would like to speak to her. In the morning. Or whenever she is ready.”

“I will tell her that,” Lien Hua said. Her pitying gaze made Ursa wither.

Spirits, she was weary. Azula’s improving condition lifted a weight off her chest. Now all she could think about was a bath and a change of clothes, as the ones she wore were still singed from Azula’s fire.

***

It was as lovely an evening as two days ago, when she walked the same path as Noriko, not knowing it would be the last time. Two days was such a short time for so much to change in her life.

Ozai walked beside her. Zuko would not be happy about that – she should have taken a guard, at least. But she needed to be alone with her thoughts and while she hated her husband, she had grown used to his company over the course of their marriage. More than that of any other human being, she realized with a jolt.

Now, looking at his stormy expression, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. This was it, then. Her best friend and the love of her damn life… Well, maybe she deserved it.

Since she now remembered living at the Prince’s villa and all its splendour, her house seemed pitifully small. And yet it was filled with scrolls she loved, her own paintings, colours gentler than the ever-present red, black, and gold. Stepping inside of it did not feel like being set on fire. And Suu was here, green eyes blinking; she purred with deep, warm contentment when Ursa petted her fuzzy little head.

Habit took over and she reached for her tea set. Then she paused, thought better of it, and took out a jug of wine instead.

They drank. Ozai made a face.

“The swill they serve in prison is better than this,” he said, although that did not stop him from draining his cup and promptly refilling it.

Ursa shrugged.

“I’m going to wash. Please don’t break anything.”

Another advantage to her firebending was that she never had to wash in cold water. For a moment she contemplated being petty, but then sighed and heated up the entire water tank. If Ozai hurried, it would still be warm.

She was brushing her damp hair when he emerged, tying the robe she had laid out for him with a look of utter contempt.

“I see you’ve kept yourself entertained,” he said viciously. “Was he Fire Nation, at least, or did you lie down for an Earth Kingdom peasant?”

“I did not remember I’m married,” Ursa said. Then added: “You never had that excuse.”

He poured them both wine and sat there, watching her.

“I told you before. None of these women mattered.”

“They did not matter to _you_ , you meant to say.”

He sipped his drink, humourless smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Really? Is that what you want to talk about now?”

She laid down her brush very, very carefully. She didn’t really have a mirror like those back at the Capital, just a well-polished metal shield. It distorted her reflection slightly. And smashing it wouldn’t be as satisfying.

“We could talk about what you did to Zuko,” she said.

“Why, of course,” Ozai said, voice dropping to a snarl. “Let’s talk about Zuko. That’s all you care about, all you’ve _ever_ cared about. Always, _always_ your precious little Zuko.”

“That’s not true,” she said quietly.

Ozai laughed at her.

“You think so? Azula would disagree. I disagree. Or are we wrong?”

He walked up to her when she wouldn’t meet his gaze. His hand was on her face, fingers tracing the shape of it with surprising gentleness, before they curled around her chin and forced her to look up.

“You think I’m a monster,” he said softly. “And you, so innocent, so pure. Is that not so?”

“No,” she said, her voice coming out feeble. “I never thought that. But I never tried to hurt you, either—”

“You’re lying,” he said.

They should not be doing it like this, she thought. He should not be standing over her while she knelt on the ground, trembling. Too often it had ended up like this…

But he wasn’t wrong. She wanted to blame him for everything; she couldn’t. She murdered Azulon, she placed him on the throne, she abandoned her own children… and perhaps she did love Zuko more than anyone else. Because it was easier, because she understood him, because he had never tried to hurt her or anybody else, the way Ozai or Azula did. And, like the coward she was, she chose easy.

He caressed her cheek; she wished he would hit her instead.

“You wanted from me what you knew I couldn’t give you,” Ozai said quietly, kneeling down before her, his breath brushing the shell of her ear. “And then you blamed me for not giving it. How do you think it feels?”

Her head swam, from too much wine on an empty stomach, or maybe from having him so close to her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, closing her eyes. “I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I’m sorry if I did.”

She owed him an apology, but it felt wrong on her lips. And yet she couldn’t move; he was so close now, and she was so tired. If she allowed herself to, she could rest her head on his shoulder, feel his arms around her again. His embrace felt safe, oddly so, when he half-shielded her from Azula’s fury. She would not mind dying in his arms, she just wasn’t sure if she could live there.

“You used to give me that sad, disappointed look sometimes,” Ozai said, bitter now. “You looked at me like my parents looked at me, when Iroh wasn’t around and they had no other choice. Well,” his chest shook with laughter. “Now you have good reason to. I lost everything. Are you happy, Ursa?”

He lifted her face again. His hands were warm on her cheeks; she wanted to focus on that, not on the fury burning in his golden eyes.

“Your favourite child won,” he hissed. “Your precious Zuko sits on the throne while his father and sister rot in prison. How does it feel? Are you finally happy?”

She wanted to tell him no but could only shake her head, willing herself not to cry. There was so much she had to say. But words deserted her, everything deserted her. She touched his face, his silky black hair. She felt like she did seven years ago, stepping off a ship in one of the colonies, not knowing her own name, her past, her future. Searching desperately for something, anything to fill her empty life with.

“It’s your own damn fault,” she said, grasping for some remnants of strength. “You brought this on yourself, and you know it…”

“Is that what you were hoping for when you handed me the crown?” he brought her bandaged hands to his lips and pressed searing-hot kisses to them. “With your own two gentle, lovely hands… I missed you,” he said, a sudden rawness to his voice. “I never thought I would, and yet I did. Are you surprised?”

“Yes,” she said. Then, quietly, “I missed you, too.”

His kisses were just like he was, aggressive and demanding. But she did not mind. Nothing mattered, save for the feeling of his hands and lips on her bare skin, so achingly familiar. When he disrobed, she saw the fresh burn mark on his shoulder. Was it a remnant of their fight with Azula, or had Zuko done this? She didn’t ask; didn’t want to know, not when he kissed her, again and again.

They were both older now, their bodies losing the flawlessness of youth. She could mark the passage of time with the scars on his skin, the wrinkles on his face. No doubt he thought the same of her. But, oddly, while he abhorred imperfection in everything else, she knew he did not want her any less.

She relished every hitched breath, every gasping sound he made when she drove her nails into his skin. She would cherish the bruises he left on her in turn. They were hers, and the pain was hers, as was the pleasure that followed.

Afterwards, he lay spent and exhausted in her arms, his face on her breast. His breathing was ragged and his shoulders were trembling. He wept, soundlessly, for everything that he had lost.

 _But I’m here,_ she wanted to say.

She stroked his hair and wished that it would matter.


	3. Epilogue

The Navy’s flagship was like most things in their Nation: austere, utilitarian, menacing to look at. She had not seen that much metal since leaving the harbour town seven years ago.

Part of her – a giddy, childish part – had hoped they would fly back. Fire Nation had an air fleet now. But it was still new, untested, and ships were safer. So she stayed on board, enjoying the breeze on her face and the gentle rocking of waves as they sped through them, engines roaring.

A ship had first brought her to the Islands, as a young girl ready to be schooled in the Capital and then married off a few years later. Afterwards they were for joyous occasions, like when their family left the Capital for Ember Island. Life was simpler, horizon was endless, and they were happy.

That was a long time ago.

Zuko came to stand beside her, gold headpiece gleaming in the sun. Together they watched the Islands come closer and closer, the only distinct, solid shape between the stretch of the sky and the ever-changing shift of waves.

“I received word from Uncle Iroh,” Zuko said. “They are ready with a welcoming feast.”

She would be glad to see Iroh again, although she wasn’t sure how he would feel about her. Nevertheless, she had to express her gratitude somehow; Iroh was there for Zuko when no one else was.

“I never thanked you,” Ursa said. “For finding me. I never apologized for leaving, either.”

“Technically, father restored your memories,” Zuko said. “If he asked for his firebending back, you would have died,” he said after a pause. “Either by Azula’s hand, or by accident. Do you think this is why he didn’t?”

“I would like to believe that,” Ursa said softly.

“Me, too,” Zuko’s voice was just as quiet. “And I know why you left. At least I think I do.”

She smiled faintly.

“I was young and stupid, and I thought my honour mattered more than my own family…”

“Yeah, sounds familiar,” Zuko said, grinning.

He paused for a long moment, palms resting on the railing. No doubt he was thinking of his own three-year-long quest, when a ship was the only home left to him. Or maybe it was something else – he was no longer the bright-eyed child who wore his emotions on his sleeve and whose thoughts she could read as effortlessly as her own. Now she wouldn’t know unless he shared them with her.

When he spoke again, however, the same child-like vulnerability was in his voice.

“I was sure I was doing the right thing,” he said. “I wanted to free you from whatever banishment father sentenced you to. But—”

He hadn’t been happy when he found out Ozai had spent the night at her house. He had been furious when Ursa came out of Azula’s room in the morning with burn marks on her neck, while Azula screamed at her ghosts to leave her alone. She had to be restrained again, against the protests of the gentle healers of Yangchen. Three of them, Lien Hua included, volunteered to come along to the Capital to oversee her treatment, and Zuko agreed.

And now Ozai and Azula were in their separate cells deep in the bowels of the ship, while Ursa stood on its deck, unbound, save for her own guilt.

“I don’t think I can do that, Mother,” Zuko finished. “I don’t think anyone can.”

Ursa smiled at him, marvelling at the man he grew up to be.

“I’ve tried freedom for seven years,” she said. “It did not suit me.”

Zuko understood her. She knew he did.

They stood together, the Islands drawing nearer and nearer, as the ship brought them all home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this work, please consider leaving a comment :)


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